Work Text:
If All Might could count on people making one mistake about him, underestimating his intelligence would top the list. Sure, All Might could juggle elephants and change the weather in one punch, but he took his school years seriously and studied harder than anyone. Dumb heroes tended to find themselves dead dumb heroes, so All Might continued studying even after leaving his school years behind. He could calculate angles, vectors, and trajectory in his head; the amount of force to apply to render a villain unconscious and not paralyzed. His skills in first aid rivaled experienced paramedics. He knew police codes, civil and criminal law, military hand signals, spoke two languages fluently and could get by in a dozen others. A lifetime of heroics gave him a depth of skills, from agriculture to zoology.
People who didn’t know him well, including his fellow teachers at UA, mistakenly believed him to be naive and simple-minded, and he let them. His act fooling them brought him quiet amusement. Toshinori Yagi frankly preferred an optimistic world view. If people dropped their guard around him because of this, well, so much the better.
He never fooled his successor, young Izuku Midoriya, not even for a moment. He tried, of course, from the day they met, during the process of getting to know one another. At first, young Midoriya displayed nothing more than hero worship for every action Toshinori took. After a week, as they began to move past hero and fan, Toshinori would occasionally catch young Midoriya eying him skeptically when he slipped into his hero persona. Toshinori then made a specific effort to avoid putting on his routine when they were alone. One day, he couldn’t hide a grimace of pain. Young Midoriya instantly helped him sit down, brought him a bottle of water, and asked, “Are you OK, All Might?”
Toshinori almost waved it off with a hearty laugh and an insincere, “I’m fine now,” but the look in the boy’s eyes stopped him. Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, young Midoriya. Some days are worse than others for my injury, and today is one of the bad ones.”
The boy ran to his backpack, digging out a compression bandage, muscle relaxant cream, and extra strength pain relief. The boy nodded his head and whispered, “Thank you.” He held up the medication, and asked in a louder voice, “Are these all right for you to use?” At All Might’s nod, young Midoriya proceeded to help Toshinori quickly and efficiently. To himself, Toshinori swore to himself never to be anything less than authentic to his successor.
As he followed up his vow with deed, he saw young Midoriya warm to him in ways he wouldn’t have imagined. Izuku acted cautiously guarded around the All Might act, but around Toshinori, the boy started showing his sense of humor. As impressive as the boy seemed at first, getting to truly know him shocked Toshinori. Young Midoriya held an array of skills, not as varied and deep as Toshinori’s but impressive considering his age. He thought Izuku highly intelligent before, but once Izuku dropped his own act, he found that Izuku was even smarter than he’d imagined.
In the months between that day and the entrance exam, the two of them forged a trust greater than anything in Toshinori’s experience since Nana Shimura’s death. Someday Izuku would stand on the other side of the mentor-successor relationship and probably find it as strange and endearing as Toshinori. He hoped Izuku’s eventual successor would fill him with half the pride Toshinori felt for Izuku.
That’s why when a tired-looking Izuku stumbled out of Recovery Girl’s infirmary and whispered to All Might, “Can we meet later at the beach? Eight PM?” All Might nodded without hesitation. “And can we have one other person join us?”
Principal Nezu hated surprises. As a being once held captive and subjected to cruel experiments, he sought to control all variables possible in the social experiment of life. This gave him a measure of control denied to him during his captivity. He made a point of learning all he could about those around him, the better to gauge how they would react to any situation.
Shota Aizawa might just be the human being he knew best. He could instantly assess the balance of caffeine and sleep by the width and darkness of the black circles under his eyes. He could measure his annoyance by the strength and frequency of the twitching in his left eye. How much further Nezu could push the stoic teacher, or how much placation would be needed, could be determined by the strength that Aizawa punched the drywall in the hallway outside of Nezu’s office after a meeting.
He catalogued the tells for all his teachers, even All Might, though the number one hero’s tells were often hidden behind a façade. Nothing annoyed him more than discovering an unexpected facet to someone, but he mentally updated their profile to make further surprises increasingly unlikely.
Sadly, his interactions with the students didn’t allow him as much in-depth knowledge, but he made a point to study them as much as possible. He memorized all their records, watched recordings from training sessions, and even studied their interactions in those areas of the school with cameras. Contrary to popular rumor, they did not cover every square inch of campus. A traitor’s identity could never have remained hidden if the rumor held any truth.
While surveillance increased, the students remained at least partially unknown. Walking, talking, growing x-factors with the potential to confound him in surprising ways, and, as said, Nezu hated surprises.
So, when he arrived at his office in the morning to find Izuku Midoriya, looking nervous but determined, sitting outside his office, he paused. None of his calculations pointed to a discussion with All Might’s chosen inheritor today, or any time in the current school year. The boy passed his final exam, and even if he failed, the consequences should be negligible.
A surprise, indeed.
Stubbornness, even more than caffeine, fueled Shota Aizawa. He trained heroes, but more importantly, he trained heroes who could and would survive. If he couldn’t find that spark of potential in a student, he expelled them. It may seem cruel, but how much crueler to send them to their death.
He didn’t squander what little patience he owned on socializing or frivolity. His priority consisted of the welfare of his students, his work as a pro-hero, and sleep, in that order, with everything else a distant fourth. So, when Nezu’s voice paging All Might and him to the principal’s office pulled him from priority number three, he suppressed a flash of annoyance. What, he thought, has the red, white, and blue buffoon done this time?
All Might, however, buffed himself, rose, and powerwalked to the door of the teacher’s lounge with a serious expression on his face before Aizawa could even disentangle himself from his sleeping bag, and he practiced getting out of his sleeping bag. He hurried to catch up to the number one hero, damn his freakishly long stride. “Yagi. What’s this about?”
All Might kept his pace, and replied, “I can’t say for certain, but I believe we will find out.” Shota’s left eye twitched, but they arrived at the office door, swinging open for them as they approached and removing the possibility of further discussion without Nezu hearing.
“Come in, gentlemen,” Nezu called, and he followed Yagi into the room. As soon as the door closed, Yagi shrank back to his smaller form. Without a wall of muscle obstructing his view, he frowned at the sight laid out before him, even more so because Yagi just revealed his true form to a student. And not just any student… Problem Child.
After Nezu ushered Izuku into the office, the small principal gestured to a leather armchair and offered tea, which Izuku politely declined as he took the offered seat. Nezu proceeded to make the tea regardless, placing a cup in front of Izuku despite his wishes, but Nezu also took a cup of tea for himself as he moved to the large matching couch opposite Izuku’s chair, so making tea might be a delaying tactic or coping mechanism for the principal. Before Nezu could sit, and the couch incorporated a subtle and tastefully done stair to make that possible, Izuku said “I’m sorry, Principal Nezu, but before we begin, can Mr. Aizawa and All Might join us?”
Nezu mentally cursed, but kept his expression neutral as he replied, “Of course, Mr. Midoriya.” He took his seat and pressed a button on his watch. “Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yagi to the principal’s office, please.” He paused a moment, and then repeated it in case Aizawa missed the first announcement due to slumber. Mere moments later, his watch let him know as the teachers approached the door. He pressed a button to open the door, and called out, “Come in, gentlemen.”
All Might entered the room first, another surprise in a day of surprises. Nezu regretted making tea already, but he could at least pour cups of it for the two teachers. As expected, All Might scanned the room in an instant, taking mental stock of everything in the room, their positions, their mass, their threat, or use as a weapon, and, of course, the occupants. Aizawa stood behind him, and the moment the door closed, All Might deflated to Aizawa’s surprise. This, fortunately, did not surprise Nezu, as he knew of Mr. Midoriya’s awareness of All Might’s condition. He noted the rapidity of Aizawa’s twitch and the complexion of the bags under his eyes. Oh dear, Nezu thought, not a good omen.
Even in his frail form, All Might walked further into the room as if he owned it, patting Mr. Midoriya on the shoulder, and taking a seat, unoffered, in the other armchair beside the boy. Nezu’s frustration grew as more of his carefully cultivated profiles failed him. His one port of predictability in a stormy sea of surprises, Aizawa stalked to the couch and sat on, what Nezu had hoped to be, the teachers’ side.
Nezu bustled about supplying tea to All Might and Mr. Aizawa, despite their protests. A coping mechanism and stalling tactic, Izuku thought. After a moment, Nezu took his seat, placing his tiny paws on the knees of his custom-tailored suit. “So, Mr. Midoriya, perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell us what this is about. Although on rare occasions, students request meetings with me, this is the first time one has requested the presence of two teachers for the meeting.”
Izuku nodded. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Principal, but I wanted to give this to you in person. Since Mr. Aizawa and All Might are my homeroom and heroics course teachers, respectively, I felt it would be best if they were here.” Izuku stood and handed Nezu a piece of paper. Despite his nervousness, somehow his hand remained steady.
Nezu’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this…?”
“Yes, sir,” Izuku said. “That is my request to transfer. I apologize that I had to design the form myself, since the school doesn’t appear to have an official form.”
Nezu glanced at the form, his paws betraying him with a tiny shake. If he ever imagined such a form would be necessary, he may have designed something similar. Before he could calm himself enough to speak, Aizawa shot up.
“Transfer? What is this, Problem Child?” Aizawa couldn’t completely keep his frustration, confusion, anger, and, yes, a hint of betrayal out of his voice.
Izuku met his gaze. “My name is Izuku Midoriya. It’s neither Deku nor Problem Child.”
Aizawa clenched his jaw. “Midoriya, then. I apologize and want to clarify that I never intended the term ‘Problem Child’ as an insult, and I’m sorry if I caused that impression. My other question stands, however. What is the meaning of this… transfer?”
“Apology accepted,” Izuku said, before continuing. “I want to transfer to a different school. That shouldn’t be a problem since all hero schools in Japan are under the joint oversight of the Hero Public Safety Commission and the Department of Education and, in theory, follow a similar curriculum. I meet the standards for both Ketsubutsu Academy and Shiketsu High and either would be acceptable. If there are any opening in their first-year class, I’d like to move now, between semesters. If that’s not possible, then,” and he pulled another piece of paper from his bag, “I’ll submit this withdraw form and take a semester off, then take part in their entrance exams and earn my spot.”
Aizawa and Nezu both glanced at Izuku, then at each other, and then at All Might, but All Might’s steady gaze remained focused on Izuku’s determined face. Aizawa almost spoke again, but when All Might reached over and gently placed a supportive hand on the boy’s back, the underground hero’s eyes narrowed, and the words dried up on his tongue. “But…”
Nezu regained his composure, turning his focus toward Izuku and ignoring the two heroes. “This is quite a shock, Mr. Midoriya. In all my years as principal, I don’t recall ever receiving a request to transfer. Withdraws are also incredibly rare, typically limited to debilitating injuries or family emergencies, but an extended leave request can usually circumvent or mitigate those. Is that a possibility in this case?”
Izuku shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
The last time Nezu received shocks of this strength and in such rapid succession, they came from electrodes attached to his tiny body by human scientists. What have we done? he thought, desperately. “May I ask why, Mr. Midoriya? Surely we can do something to address the situation.”
Izuku looked around the room. “I… I’m sorry, sir,” he said, finally. “I’d prefer not to go in depth, and I don’t have confidence that my issues will be addressed in any meaningful way. My best choice is to pursue my education elsewhere.”
Aizawa’s fists clenched, and he looked down. Nezu’s concentration split between trying to figure out what created this situation and keeping his claws from extending. He took deep breaths to calm his pulse rate. “Mr. Midoriya, I am willing to beg,” Nezu offered. “If we have failed you so badly, I need to know. Hopefully to make amends to you, but, even if that is impossible, then at least so we can improve and not fail anyone else in such a way.”
Aizawa looked up. “If this is because of something I’ve done, will my resignation make you reconsider? You’ve got potential, P… Midoriya. You’ve been doing well.”
Izuku sighed. “That’s the problem, I’m not doing well.”
Nezu stood on the couch, and then bowed in the dogeza position. “Please, Mr. Midoriya. Explain it to us.” Aizawa mimicked the bow, although the layout of the furniture prevented him from getting to the floor so he emulated the position as best he could while seated.
“Please, principal Nezu. You don’t have to do that,” Izuku said, “and you’re probably not going to like my reasons behind this.”
Nezu looked up. “I may not, but I believe it is vital that I hear it.”
“Did either of you watch my final?” Izuku asked.
“Of course,” Aizawa replied. “You more than passed. You personally tied with Yaoyorozu for the highest individual score.”
Izuku shook his head. “Did you watch all of the final?”
Nezu’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We were told before we began the criteria that determined who we were partnered with for the final. My partner was Bakugo because we would ‘have to work together to win.’ So, did you watch before the match started, during the time when we should have been collaborating to produce a plan, or did you only watch once the buzzer rang?”
Nezu glanced at Aizawa. “From the buzzer,” the teacher answered. “It would have been unfair to grade you before the test even started. As I said, you passed.”
“But I was never the problem, was I? I get along well and collaborate with everyone in class, except one person, and it is not from a lack of effort on my part. I don’t insult Bakugo,” Aizawa cringed a bit at hearing Izuku say Bakugo’s name, “and I don’t assault him. I know the names of my classmates, I know their quirks, and I know multiple ways to synergize with them in a team. I don’t assume I’m superior to them or that I’m owed obedience just because I’m more powerful or have a flashy quirk. You put me on a team with a person who is at best uncooperative and at worst openly and violently hostile to me. It’s not mutual, so the test wasn’t about me.” Izuku held out his hand, and a small white object fell, clattering on the coffee table. Aizawa cautiously reached forward, picking up the object and staring at it for a long moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before handing it to Nezu. “In case you’re curious, it’s my right second bicuspid. I also lost my first molar on that side, but I couldn’t find it, so it’s somewhere on the training ground.”
“I know the test was difficult, Mr. Midoriya,” Nezu began, but Aizawa coughed, shaking his head.
“You lost those two teeth before the final began, didn’t you, Midoriya?” Aizawa asked. “And you still finished without complaint.”
Izuku nodded. “Bakugo backhanded me with one of his gauntlets while I was trying to talk with him. Recovery Girl assumed they were lost during the final and arranged for me to get implants.”
“Why did you not inform us?” Nezu asked. “We could have addressed it!” Both All Might and Aizawa looked away while Midoriya merely chuckled sadly. “What?”
“Those gauntlets are a complicated system that collects, stores, and concentrates the extra sweat that Bakugo produces. They’re like cannons. During our first heroics class, he fired one at me at close range. I barely managed to get behind a support column in time and still suffered severe injuries. The blast nearly collapsed the building that he and I, along with two of our classmates, were in.”
Nezu’s eyes narrowed. “Why were these not taken away from him?”
All Might coughed. “It was my first class, and I wish I had. I told Bakugo that if he used them again it would be an automatic loss.”
“Ah,” Nezu said with relief.
All Might shook his head. “He did fire a second shot.”
Izuku nodded, rolling up his sleeve and showing a huge burn scar on his arm. “I will take some of the blame for that, I goaded him a bit as part of my strategy to win. I broke my other arm using my quirk, but that was directed at the roof and not at Bakugo. Without Recovery Girl, I would probably be permanently disabled.”
“That’s still…” Nezu’s vision seemed to spin. “Where were you during this, Mr. Aizawa?”
“The teacher’s lounge. I reviewed the tapes and provided feedback to All Might and the students in class.”
“And yet Bakugo still has access to these gauntlets,” Nezu noted, trying to keep his hackles from rising. “What was the feedback?”
“To All Might, focus more on the basics and competitive exercises that don’t involve direct combat,” Aizawa said. “I believe I told Bakugo to grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat.”
“And to Midoriya?”
Aizawa frowned, “that he needed to figure out how to use his quirk without injuring himself. His lack of control was a liability, but he’s shown great improvement.”
While Aizawa looked down, Nezu, All Might, and Izuku, all shared silent looks. At Nezu’s questioning gaze, Izuku nodded. While Aizawa didn’t know Izuku only got his quirk six months ago, more could have been done to help learn to use his quirk without risking the secret of One For All. All three of the adults in the room had failed as educators. “Nevertheless,” Nezu said finally, “he had to figure it out for himself.”
“I…” Aizawa sighed. “I have no excuse. I assumed that he’d never bothered to learn how to use his quirk due to laziness.” He looked up at Izuku, “but that’s wrong, isn’t it, Midoriya? I’ve seen you work harder than any other student I’ve ever had, and I should have revisited that conclusion.”
“I don’t blame you for that, Mr. Aizawa,” Izuku said finally. “A lot of things happened this year. I… didn’t feel like I could come to you. I,” he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, “couldn’t access my quirk at all when I was younger. Effectively, I was quirkless, and teachers didn’t want to deal with a quirkless loser.”
“What… that’s…” Aizawa sputtered.
“Exceedingly rare, but it does happen,” All Might offered, “especially with enhancement quirks. Mine didn’t come in until I was thirteen.”
Aizawa looked at Izuku. “And you?”
Izuku smiled sadly. “The zero pointer. I spent the ten years before that hoping to be the first quirkless student in UA’s heroic’s course.”
Aizawa pressed the palms of both hands against his eyes. “Oh God. I’ve screwed up so bad. Midoriya, I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Aizawa, it’s not entirely your fault. Villains attacked our class in the first week, and critically injured you for protecting us. I can’t express how grateful I am to you, but it has been one thing after another all year, and it’s not just me this is hurting.”
All eyes in the room focused on Izuku. “What do you mean?” Nezu asked.
“I can’t betray the confidences of my friends, but our class is slowly falling apart, not from fighting with each other, we’re individually falling apart. You have a student being abused by a parent, a student in such financial difficulty that sometimes they go the entire weekend without eating, several students sexually harassed by another student, another so consumed by a personal matter that they nearly got themselves and two other students killed during the internships, and another student who was used as a prop for an overly sexualized commercial by a hero who was supposed to be teaching them. No one noticed or addressed these issues. The school should have prevented at least three of the internships, and we didn’t receive any guidance on who would be a good fit for us. I was incredibly lucky with my internship, but it was the only offer I got, so I didn’t even have a choice, and it could have been much worse. Imagine if one of the girls in class only got a single offer from a male hero who didn’t have the best of intentions, they’d have no choice but to go. Most people have nightmares because of the things we’ve seen, so is it any surprise, after one student tries multiple times to attack another student, then nearly killed their target in training, and the total of the school’s response to the offender is ‘grow up,’ that no one feels they can go to the teachers?” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Or even worse, ends up chained to a podium wearing a muzzle on global television?” Izuku opened his eyes, and they locked on to Nezu’s own, piercing into the small mammal’s soul, “How could you, of all people, find that acceptable?”
Nezu shook his head. “I have no excuse. The situation since the League of Villains attacked has been… extremely delicate.” Nezu’s eyes narrowed. If the League were trying to sow dissension and erode confidence in their hero society, a transfer to a different school by one of only forty students accepted into the UA hero course in the first six months would do it.
Izuku nodded. “And now you’re thinking I’m the traitor.”
Nezu suppressed a gasp. “Mr. Midoriya….”
Izuku shook his head. “I’m not, you know, and unlike everyone in the school other than All Might, I have proof.” He nodded to Toshinori.
All Might returned the nod. “At young Midoriya’s request, I met with him last night at Dagobah beach. Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi of the Police Force joined us. As you know, his quirk allows him to detect truth and lies. He questioned us both and concluded that neither of us have or would consider working with the League of Villains.”
“Several people in class have been discussing the possibility of a traitor after overhearing a couple of teachers talking about it,” Izuku said. “We’re all jumping at our own shadows, and we have a fraction of the details the teachers have. An hour of the detective’s time is all it would take to clear all the hero course students and the teachers. Just five simple questions, less than a minute per person.”
Nezu looked down in shame. “If the detective is willing, that is an excellent idea. I … Mr. Midoriya. I hope that you will reconsider, and we can improve the school with your help and input, and that of your classmates. I know you have friends here. What do you hope to accomplish by leaving them behind?”
Izuku smiled. “Well, plan B was to transfer, hoping to inspire others to follow my example rather than going down with a sinking ship. My preferred outcome was... different.”
Nezu felt a moment of hope, “What was the best-case scenario, Midoriya?”
“That you’d listen. That you’d see the problems and agree to fixing them.”
Aizawa picked up the transfer form. “So, this was…?”
Izuku grinned, reaching out and taking the sheet of paper from his teacher. “A rational deception, of course.” He folded the sheet, slipping it into his bag. “I’ll hold on to this for now. Hopefully plan A will work out for the best. Thank you for your time.” Izuku bowed deeply, and left the room, followed by a smiling and whistling Toshinori Yagi.
Aizawa and Nezu sat in silence for a long time, neither looking up as they reviewed how masterfully this first year played them. Finally, Aizawa stood. “Well, it seems we both have a lot of work to do.” At Nezu’s silent nod, Aizawa walked to the door and let himself out.
Aizawa proceeded to punch a hole in the drywall, but he grinned as he walked away. “This kid….”